


Healing

by anovelblogwrites



Series: Cassian and Nesta One-Shots [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Nessian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:14:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8597581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anovelblogwrites/pseuds/anovelblogwrites
Summary: Nesta visits Cassian during his recovery.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is another installment in the collection of stories I'm writing about Nesta and Cassian. I just write them as I think of them/find inspiration, so they aren't in any particular order!

Ironically enough, the nights were the worst. The distractions of forced conversation and planning were gone, and nightmares were inevitable, if she could find sleep at all. The sounds of the house often kept her awake. She wasn’t used to being able to hear murmurs from downstairs, or the leaves whistling in the breeze. And as a result of the muted ruckus, Nesta was awake and thinking. 

 

She couldn’t get the images out of her head. The chaos, the blood, that damned Cauldron. The screaming--Feyre’s, Cassian’s, Elain’s, her own. She couldn’t forget a single detail of that day, from the moment she was taken from her bed to the sound of Rhysand’s anguished cries as he was separated from her sister. 

 

But perhaps most clearly, Nesta remembered when Cassian hit the ground. The blood-curdling scream for those brief seconds of freefall. The horror flashing across his face when he realized what had happened. His arm raising mere inches out of the puddle of his blood towards her, just moments before she was forced into the Cauldron. The precise moment he realized he had failed her. And if Nesta hadn’t seen that desperate reach, she might have agreed with him. 

 

The knowledge that he thought this way plagued Nesta. She’d watched in bitter silence for years as the weight of a promise crushed her little sister. Talking to the warrior wouldn’t undo the neglect and malice she’d inflicted upon Feyre, but she’d be damned if it wasn’t a start.

 

Nesta grabbed the long robe from the foot of her bed and pulled it tightly around her, longing for one of her soft nightgowns from home. Flimsy Night Court fashion was useless against the early spring chill. She tiptoed out of her room, up the stairs, and down the hall to where they were keeping him. At the sound of deep voices, she scowled. She wasn’t about to say what she wanted to say when there were other people to witness it. 

 

She waited in the shadows of the corridor until the door finally cracked open, and the High Lord of the Night Court and his Spymaster exited the room. Drawing a steadying breath, Nesta made her way to the door, which had been left open a sliver. She peered in, and her heart twisted hard enough to make her stagger back. She hit the wall, then slid down it, biting down hard on her knuckles so as not to cry out or hurl at the sight of the carnage on the Illyrian’s back. 

 

She stood up, wanting nothing more than to run out of that hallway and go back to bed, and try to forget this ever happened. She could talk to the faerie after he’d healed--when she couldn’t still smell the blood and festering flesh. Her stomach turned again and she started walking away, but then she heard it. A pointed ear twitched and she cringed at the feeling, but she followed its lead and turned her head to the source of the sound. 

 

Again. Softly, even to her, but unmistakable. A sob. Nesta knew she couldn’t leave. He was suffering. 

 

Somehow, he hadn’t heard her come in. He didn’t so much as twitch at the sound her feet surely made as she crossed the room. Only when she was kneeling at his bedside did his eyes open. He’d probably smelled her, and again Nesta cursed the superiority of Fae senses. 

 

“I’m…” he started when he recognized her, but she shook her head. Instinctively, she smoothed over the crease between his brows. 

 

“Rest,” she ordered softly. His eyes closed again. Her thumb slid down the bridge of his nose, then over his cheek. She wiped away the wetness that had settled there. 

 

It was this act of gentleness, the quiet forgiveness in it, that made another tear slide down Cassian’s cheek. 

 

“Shhh,” Nesta soothed, her fingers now running over his hair. She repeated the action until she was doing it idly, and Cassian’s breathing had slowed. As he slept, she practiced what she would say when the time was right. 

 

“You are so brave,” she tested the words. “So strong.” 

 

Before she could say anything more, there was a sound in the hallway. Footsteps. She dropped Cassian’s hand and pushed herself off the ground in one abrupt motion. She was almost out the door when she ran into Morrigan. 

 

Suddenly paranoid that the High Fae had heard her moment of vulnerability, Nesta found herself scowling. “It’s about time one of you came to check on him,” she said, her voice flatly accusatory. 

 

She didn’t give Morrigan a chance to respond before she stalked back to her room.


End file.
